


Blowing Bubbles

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bathtubs, M/M, Padawan Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rub-a-dub-dub, there's a very dirty Padawan in Obi-Wan's tub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing Bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> Written circa-2006.

He’d moved into Qui-Gon’s quarters shortly after his probationary period with the Council had ended. It had not felt short, to be certain; he had been on a couple of eye-opening missions with Qui-Gon before his Master had officially accepted him. And then had come the short-yet-heartbreaking period of time that he wasn’t with the Jedi at all – rather, he had given up his ties to the Order to join the cause he thought he’d believed in even more. (Again, short-lived.)

Most Padawans dreamed of nothing more than leaving the Initiates’ hall, would agonize for weeks over the details of preparing to share a living space with their Masters. By the time Qui-Gon had mentioned it, however, Obi-Wan had hardly felt anxious at all. After assisting with a civil war on a small, tumultuous planet and chasing down his Master’s mentally unstable ex-apprentice alongside Qui-Gon, moving in together had seemed almost anti-climatic.

Nonetheless, the large, extravagant-looking tub in their now joint bathroom still managed to awe him a lot. It was huge, ornate as the rest of the room, but still decorated with spacious grooves for soaps and shampoos to sit on. Obi-Wan was used to communal freshers, cramped, uniform-looking things that got the job done and little more.

Of course, Qui-Gon had glanced sidelong at him in vague disapproval when he commented on it. “As you’re aware, I’m not quite ancient enough to have been the sole occupant of these rooms for as long as they’ve existed,” his Master had noted dryly, yet gently enough that the blow dealt by his earlier implied reprimand would be softened somewhat. “Assumably, there was once a larger species of Jedi taking up residence here. An interesting coincidence, but probably little more.”

Obi-Wan had never asked after it again, nor did he push the issue when Qui-Gon commented negatively on using it for anything but short, economical showers. That was not to say that Obi-Wan wasn’t curious, of course; his Master’s behavior was constantly a wonder to him, and if social constructs and his own nerve would allow it, he didn’t think he’d ever run out of things to ask. But Qui-Gon was an extremely private man and Obi-Wan respected that, so he curbed his tongue accordingly.

Anakin was different, of course. He always had been, really, in nearly every way that mattered, and while Obi-Wan grew used to and even fond of the boy’s garrulous and inquisitive nature, he still found himself taken aback by it on occasion.

Anakin was naturally quite curious about a great many things regarding the Order, but none moreso than water. For a civilization so intent on conserving as much as possible, their frequently lax utilization of what a young boy growing up on Tatooine – and as a slave, no less, where precious resources on a threadbare planet were even harder to come by – considered a luxury seemed appallingly wasteful.

He was never shy about bringing such opinions to his Master’s attention, either – never with any intentional disrespect meant, of course, but in that blunt manner that curious children often assumed. Unsurprisingly, Anakin’s favorite spot at the Temple quickly became the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Often, Obi-Wan would find him there when the boy wasn’t cooped up in his own quarters, hunched over scattered droid parts, just sitting and observing, letting the cool mist collect on his face and arms.

“Does anyone ever bathe in here?” Anakin asked him one day when Obi-Wan had come to collect him for lightsaber practice.

The older man had blinked, and then smiled. “I doubt it sincerely,” he answered after a moment.

Anakin heard the laughter in his voice and frowned rather petulantly. “But why?” the then-ten-year-old boy asked. “It’s clean, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Then why?”

“We don’t – it’s just not done, Padawan. I don’t have a more specific answer to give you. I’m sorry.” He reached over and ruffled Anakin’s softly spiked hair affectionately. “I regret,” he said kindly, eyes twinkling, “that I am not the boundless font of knowledge you’d prefer.”

Anakin caught his sidelong grin and returned it with one of his own. He’d let Obi-Wan off the hook, he decided. But only for now.

*

 

Of course, Anakin had not been satisfied with Obi-Wan’s explanation of why he could not use the gigantic tub for baths. (Actually, it had been Qui-Gon’s explanation that Obi-Wan had modified slightly and adapted as his own, and while he often wondered if Anakin would be just as bratty if his own Master had been the one to break this news to him, he knew the reasoning was essentially the same.) “So it’s okay to waste tons of water in the Room of a Thousand Fountains,” he concluded, “but using a few for a bath once in a while somehow reflects badly on my character?”

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to rip out tufts of his hair in frustration. (Or Anakin’s, even.) At seventeen now, his Padawan knew with the finesse of a Master just how to exasperate him. “It is what it is, Anakin,” he finally managed, exuding little but well-practiced calm. “I do not understand why you insist on pushing every issue and boundary you come across.”

“To keep you on your toes, Master,” Anakin responded. Glancing at him, Obi-Wan was relieved to see him grinning cheekily. He did not like to fight with Anakin, or discipline him, and enjoyed even less having to exert his authority over him. Power was a dangerous thing, and Obi-Wan did not particularly crave it, nor did he particularly appreciate being reminded just how much his Padawan did.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” the boy continued repentantly (or as close to it as Anakin got). “There are things I am simply not meant to understand, and I should respect that and avoid questioning your judgment.” He bowed his head slightly in deference and Obi-Wan smiled, quietly relieved – perhaps more than he should have been – that the boy was not going to continue wrestling him for control today.

“It’s all right, Anakin,” he replied. “It is only natural to be curious.”

Anakin tilted his head to the side slightly. “Were you ever, Master?” It was not meant as a criticism, merely curiosity, and Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Of course,” he said; then, to clarify further: “Master Qui-Gon did not discourage questions, but he always had a knack for gently discouraging any that he was not prepared to give an answer for. He made it seem so effortless, really.” The wistful undertone was punctuated by a long sigh.

Anakin had never appreciated awkwardness between them, even as a young boy, and quickly made to erase it. He pulled Obi-Wan a touch hesitantly into a hug, which Obi-Wan returned shortly after. “I think you’re doing pretty okay,” he said teasingly, and nudged the older man lightly with his elbow. “Even if you’re an awful stickler for rules.”

*

 

The silence was what told Anakin that his Master was not home. Obi-Wan often chided him for his own noise-making, but Anakin suspected the older man was unaware of how audible his own presence was without any effort at all. A pen scratching against paper, the dull thud of fingers clacking against computer keys – that was all it took. They weren’t annoying noises to Anakin, merely natural, proof that his Master was around.

Silence disturbed Anakin; quite frankly, it made him feel uncomfortable. Even in the barren wastelands of Tatooine, there had been noise; not particularly as pleasant as Obi-Wan typing something into a data-pad or preparing dinner, but noise, nonetheless. Anakin supposed it was simply ingrained into him: he was too used to it to not be bothered by its disappearance.

But Obi-Wan was not there – he’d been dispatched earlier in the week on a small mid-rim mission to quell a tiny-yet-potentially-messy rebel insurgence – and in his absence, the quarters he shared with Anakin were eerily quiet. Unnerved, Anakin found himself pacing a little, stalking from one room to another and back again. He technically had schoolwork that he could be doing – that was actually the reason he’d been left on Coruscant, pouting and sighing about how he would learn much more with hands-on experience rather than merely reading about it, as a matter of fact. But his Galactic Geography texts were no more tempting to him now than they’d been a few days ago, so he continued his prowling.

Glancing into Obi-Wan’s room, he realized just how much of his Master’s personality was stamped on it now, compared to when he’d just arrived at the Temple. Back then, of course, Obi-Wan had lived in Anakin’s own quarters, and Qui-Gon had had the Master bedroom, so named out of tradition as much as the simple fact that it was a tiny bit bigger than the apprentice’s chambers.

The Jedi generally did not believe in material possessions, but even someone as rigidly abiding of their teachings as Obi-Wan had at least a few: some model ships he had built when he was an apprentice himself; a small bookcase containing a few dusty-yet-well-preserved tomes and a couple of other odds-and-ends. Most tellingly, of course, was his lightsaber, which Obi-Wan kept on his person at all times save for when he showered or slept in the security of his own bed. At those times, the hilt that Qui-Gon had initially fashioned and Obi-Wan had modified (after his own lightsaber was lost during his battle with Darth Maul) would sit on his small bedside table, gleaming even in the darkness.

It was the middle of the afternoon, now, and his Master’s lightsaber was, of course, with him. Obi-Wan’s bed stood uncomplicatedly in the corner, taking up a good portion of the room. It had been sitting there neatly made and untouched for several days now, and Anakin had a sudden urge to rush over and tug down the covers.

He didn’t, though, eventually bypassing his Master’s room altogether and padding towards the fresher. The gigantic tub stared back at him, tempting, luring him, and suddenly Anakin knew exactly what it was that he wanted to be doing.

He began stripping off his clothes methodically, folding each article neatly and stacking them on the counter by the tub. It was a far cry from his usual impatient method of chucking his clothes hastily wherever they fell; he rationalized that somehow, modifying his behavior in this small way would ultimately make up for – or at least, even out a bit – directly disobeying his Master.

He found the stopper where it had laid unused for as long as Anakin could remember, and fitted it into the tub drain, before turning the hot water knob as far as it would go. Warmth pulsated out onto his fingers, and Anakin enjoyed the way the slight sting on his digits made him shiver.

The tub filled up slowly, water coursing around in a lazy circle. It looked inviting, but, Anakin decided, it was missing something.

He padded nakedly and a little cold back to his room, fishing around in his drawers until he found what he’d been searching for: bubble bath. Given to him as part of a celebratory basket of treats – most of them long depleted now, of course – handed out to all guests in attendance back during his involvement in the politics of the planet of Naboo. Obi-Wan had looked a tad disappointed when Anakin had clutched at his protectively all the way back to Coruscant, but something – possibly his own fatigue and sadness over having just lost Qui-Gon – had compelled him to let Anakin keep it without much of a fight.

The bubble bath had never been opened. Anakin had saved it as he had all of his measly possessions, a habit borne more from territorialism he had developed as a slave more than because all of the things he collected were useful. The seal was easy enough to break; uncapping it, the cloying flowery fragrance wafted about, filling his nostrils. Anakin wrinkled his nose a little; it smelled more like something the Queen of Naboo herself would use. A little feminine for his tastes, certainly, but it would suit his purposes well enough.

He carried it back to the fresher and poured a generous amount into the tub, watching the pinkish concoction turn into a multitude of tiny bubbles. It was rather fascinating. When he’d decided it was good enough, Anakin shut off the faucet and perched on the tub’s edge, sticking his foot into the water experimentally.

It was hot. He slid in up to the knee, fighting the urge to pull himself back out again. He waited out the shock of the temperature, however, gratified to slip further under the blanket of bubbles as his skin adjusted to feeling slightly inflamed.

He propped himself against the back of the tub, the water lapping gently at his throat. The bubbles felt a little slimy in his fingers, yet silky, and he found himself entertained by blowing a handful of them gently into the air.

Face reflected in the shower tile, he dipped his chin into the suds, using the makeshift mirror to sculpt the conglomeration of soap bubbles that clung to the lower half of his face into a specific shape. The result made him look vaguely more like his Master, and Anakin tittered at himself. “Now, Anakin, you know what I’ve told you about taking baths,” he scolded his reflection in a rather awful parody of Obi-Wan. “Very self-centered, it is. To the Dark Side, such an act will lead.” He realized that he sounded more like Yoda now than Obi-Wan, which only made him giggle harder.

He was busily soaping his already spiky hair into a sudsy Mohawk when the front door slid open quietly. Anakin was too engrossed in squinting at his reflection in the shower tile to notice, and so didn’t realize his Master was home until the older man had palmed open the fresher door and stood in front of the tub, blinking wearily at him. “Is this what you do when I’m gone?” he asked tiredly, leaning a little against the door frame. “Break every rule I’ve set for you?”

Anakin had not expected to be confronted right away. He blinked at his Master a few times, remnants of his soap beard still clinging to his face. Finally, he cocked his head. “Hello, Master,” he chirped. “You look incredibly filthy today. I thought the Jedi were sent to Broklaans 5 to prevent a rebel insurgence, not start one.”

It was true, he was dirty; the older man seemed to agree, too, looking down at his dusty tunics in disgust. “It seems,” he began, crossing to the toilet and bending to unlace his boots, “that the insurgence decided to surge, with or … ah,” he groaned, kicking off the left boot and flexing his foot, which likely hadn’t been aired out for the duration of his mission – “without the presence of the Jedi.”

Anakin looked appropriately sympathetic, watching out of the corner of his eye as his Master undressed. It was nothing new; they had been naked in one another’s presence many times. It was only lately that he had begun to regard his Master in a slightly different light, had become more fascinated by the well-honed muscles and curvature of Obi-Wan’s body … and had become more aware of his own burgeoning sexuality.

It was only natural to want to share this with Obi-Wan, he rationalized. They were very comfortable with one another after nearly eight years spent side-by-side, and it wasn’t as if his mentor was old, simply older than him. The fact that Obi-Wan had never seemed particularly in need of sexual gratification from men or women for as long as Anakin had known him had deterred the boy from making a move somewhat, but he was still determined to broach the subject eventually.

Obi-Wan finished shedding his clothes, leaving them bunched unceremoniously – and uncharacteristically, much to Anakin’s amusement – on the ground. “Are you nearly finished?” he asked, gesturing at the tub and Anakin inside it. “I would really like to wash five days of being splattered with Broklaanian pus spores off.”

Anakin pouted, sliding a little further beneath the water. “I’ve only just gotten in,” he whined. “You don’t want me to waste any more water, do you now, Master?” he simpered.

Obi-Wan was not amused. An uncompromising look flashed across his face. “Anakin, I’ve spent the better part of a week crouched in caves and sleeping on rocks on a planet made up almost entirely of swamp,” he said. “The one thing I thought of more than home was washing away the stench of Broklaan 5. Now, I am going to get in that tub,” he declared, “whether you are still inside or not.”

Anakin blinked in surprise. His Master never used ultimatums, and hardly ever resorted to pulling rank. It rather intrigued him. Still feeling bold, Anakin drew his legs up in a visible show of offering room. “In that case,” he answered, “there’s plenty of room for us both, Master.”

Obi-Wan looked a little bewildered, set off-kilter that his attempt at threatening his apprentice had not been received the way he’d intended. “Anakin,” he began, but apparently decided it wasn’t necessary or worth arguing the issue. “All right,” he concluded with a sigh. “Give over, then, I’m coming in.”

Anakin grinned easily at him, and Obi-Wan made a small noise at the still fairly hot temperature of the water as it made contact with his skin. “At last,” he murmured, sinking happily in until the water level was up to his neck. “Where did the bubbles come from?” he queried.

Anakin was momentarily lost, reveling in the feel of his Master’s leg brushing against his. “From the celebration for the liberation of Naboo,” he answered.

Obi-Wan dunked his head underwater, coming up with slicked back hair and a raised eyebrow. “And you’ve kept it all this time?” Anakin shrugged in vague defense. “It’s nice, whatever it is,” the older man continued.

“Nice, even for a bath?” Anakin teased.

Obi-Wan looked pointedly at him. “While I still feel it’s a waste of water, I must admit that this is a welcome reprieve after a rather disgusting mission.” His leg brushed against Anakin’s again, and an idea formed in the boy’s mind.

“Perhaps it’s something you should consider making a post-mission treat; a reward for getting home safely with all limbs in tact,” Anakin suggested, sliding the sole of his foot lightly up his Master’s leg. The older man didn’t seem to notice, his mind muddled enough to believe it was simply accidental; so Anakin did it again, moving his toes closer to Obi-Wan’s nether regions, schooling his face to look passive.

“Don’t count on it …” Obi-Wan said. Eyes closed, he relaxed almost boneless against the back of the tub, and Anakin made his move. Slowly, careful that his toenails didn’t scratch any sensitive areas, he rubbed his foot teasingly up and down the length of his Master’s cock. Obi-Wan squirmed slightly, but did not say anything; Anakin grinned wickedly, and did it again, more purposefully this time.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open. “A-Anakin, what are you doing?” He looked exhausted and out of sorts, and Anakin found his confusion somehow adorable. He didn’t answer right away, sliding all the way into the water and propelling himself forward until he was nearly straddling his Master’s lap, their faces scant inches apart.

“You look like you could use even more of a reprieve than just a warm bath after this mission, Master,” he finally said in response, willing himself not to lose his nerve in the wake of Obi-Wan’s bewildered stare. “Allow me to assist you.” He leaned in and pressed his lips softly, experimentally, against Obi-Wan’s, licking at the older man’s mouth for entrance and pleased when it was granted, either because Obi-Wan was too tired to protest or just as curious as Anakin to see where such an act would lead them. Or both.

His hands strayed to Obi-Wan’s shoulders, palms running down his arms. Obi-Wan had propped himself stiffly on them, still arching backwards against the tub almost subconsciously. Anakin reached down and grasped one of his hands, massaging the palm and digits soothingly, and tugged on his arm, forcing Obi-Wan to lean into him a little for a change. He kissed his Master again, rougher this time, silently urging him to match his pace, to give into the lust Anakin could see beginning to flourish in his eyes.

Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s leg nuzzling his cock again and jumped, gasping into the boy’s mouth. Anakin seemed to take that as an invitation to shove his tongue further inside, and Obi-Wan allowed it. Anakin kissed him with such wild abandonment, as if he was afraid the thing he clung to – in this case, his Master – was going to disappear, and this was his last chance to hold it.

He probably was afraid, Obi-Wan reflected, but quickly pushed the thought from his mind. It bothered him that his Padawan had worries like this; moreso, it bothered him that Anakin wanted – needed, even – something that he couldn’t necessarily provide: that is, the promise that he would never be alone, that Obi-Wan would always be there. And it wasn’t as though the older man wanted to make an example of abandoning his apprentice, but in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew that it would one day happen, for longer than just a standard week-long solo mission. It was the natural order of things, really, he told himself. Anakin would grow into his own and Obi-Wan would be left … not behind, of course, but to his own devices.

Alone. The thought came unbidden into his head. Somehow, he dreaded such a notion more than he knew he should. But now, with Anakin's hand reaching down to squeeze at his cock, which was responding quite astutely to the attention, he was really anything but alone, and against his better judgment, he planned to make the best out of the situation.

Anakin groaned delightedly when Obi-Wan finally gave in, kissing him back with as much pressure as he’d been applying. His fingers curled around Obi-Wan’s member, fisting it and rubbing with the quick-paced rhythm he usually brought himself off with. Obi-Wan brought his own hands up and tugged Anakin’s face away from his, making him whimper.

“Patience, Padawan,” he chided gently, planting soft kisses on Anakin’s nose and chin. His lips slid down the path of Anakin’s slim neck and he moaned, allowing Obi-Wan to take control in this manner. It thrilled him knowing this wasn’t just being forced upon his Master, that the older man was enjoying it and participating as wholeheartedly as Anakin himself was.

He nipped at Anakin’s Adam’s apple, and then licked at the droplets of water that had collected on his apprentice’s collarbone. The water was still fairly soapy, and he gathered some of the excess bubbles in his hands, proceeding to rub them over Anakin’s back and sides. Anakin arched his back and made contented noises, his hands clutching at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, completely lost in seeking his own pleasure. Obi-Wan could feel his own cock throbbing from being excited and then abandoned, but ignored it for now, plenty interested in eliciting different reactions out of Anakin. He flicked his thumbs over the boy’s nipples, scratching at them just slightly, pleased to feel them rise into hardened nubs against the pads of his fingers.

Anakin shifted against the leg he’d been straddling, grunting as their cocks came into contact. His own was hard, in the same state of arousal as his Master, and he surprised the older man by covering his crotch with his own palm when Obi-Wan reached down to take care of him. “No,” he protested, and then quickly added, “not yet. I want to bring you off first, Master.”

He leaned in and kissed Obi-Wan again, both to stifle any potential protests and to revel in the pleasant scratch of his beard against Anakin’s own smooth face. When he drew away, Obi-Wan was gazing at him with curiosity and lust, as unbridled as Anakin had ever seen it. It made him feel heady with power. His own arousal momentarily forgotten, he made to dive underneath the water, and Obi-Wan realized what he intended to do. “Anakin, no, that isn’t necessary,” he began to protest, but trailed off as Anakin’s head disappeared beneath the blanket of bubbles.

He felt the boy’s mouth suction around his cock and jumped, even though he’d been expecting it. He kept his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to tug at Anakin’s hair to control the pace, and half-wondering where the boy had learned to do this. His own lessons on Jedi breath control techniques had not covered underwater fellatio, to be sure. Not that he was complaining, obviously – quite the contrary, in fact. Anakin’s rhythm was swift and sure, his youthful age and fiery personality both lending to the fact that he liked things fast and hard.

He came up for air once, looking pleased that his Master’s breathing was ragged, before disappearing again. Moments later, Obi-Wan felt himself surrounded once more by Anakin’s beautiful mouth. He did not expect to be brought off so quickly, and whether it was because of Anakin’s apparently skilled technique or simply that he hadn’t had time to take care of himself in such a manner on Broklaan 5, he found himself somewhat embarrassed at losing control as fast as someone half his age.

The grin on Anakin’s face when he resurfaced the second time told Obi-Wan that he was pleased, however. He straddled his Master anew and kissed him, and Obi-Wan could taste himself on Anakin’s tongue. He returned the boy’s smirk with one of his own when he felt Anakin rutting against him, his cock still very aroused. “I suppose it’s my turn, then?” he murmured near Anakin’s ear, making him shiver.

“Please, Master,” Anakin whispered wantonly. He felt certain that Obi-Wan would not deny him in this, and turned up the wattage of his charm, dotting his Master’s neck with soft, teasing little kisses, rubbing against him wherever his own body could reach.

Obi-Wan surprised him, however, by tugging Anakin’s arms off of his neck, then motioning for him to turn around. He helped reposition the boy, still straddling his lap, but facing away from him. “Master, wha- oh!” Anakin gasped out, bucking in surprise when he felt the older man’s index finger slide into him. He had not expected this. “Oh, Obi-Wan …”

“Is this what you hoped to accomplish by disobeying me, Anakin?” Obi-Wan crooned, pushing a second finger in alongside the first. “Was this your imagined goal?”

Now it was Anakin’s turn to sound ragged. “N-no, Master,” he whimpered, letting out a soft cry when a third digit was added. “Oh, please,” he whispered, hands scrambling for purchase at the edge of the tub, legs spread before him, his bony knees propped slightly above the water’s surface, suds sloshing around them. Obi-Wan’s fingers began pumping in and out of him, and he bit his lip.

“Please what, Anakin?” Obi-Wan had apparently found it within himself to use even this event as an opportunity to teach Anakin about patience, and was sliding his fingers in and out with forced precision and slowness. It was a far cry from the frantic pace Anakin had set, and when he reached around with his other hand to tug at the boy’s cock, Anakin nearly sobbed with relief. “Please this?”

“Ah,” Anakin cried out, thrusting his hips forward, trying to meet Obi-Wan’s hand. The older man knew just when to pull away, and smiled infuriatingly into Anakin’s neck, the boy’s sexual tension rolling off of him in waves. Anakin wanted nothing more than to impale himself on his Master’s fingers at this point, and let out a choked cry when Obi-Wan’s thumb brushed calculatingly over the head of his cock.

“Please, Obi-Wan,” he shivered, not above begging at this point, and really, not ever where his Master was concerned. “Please, oh Force, please!”

Finally, finally, Obi-Wan obliged, both hands working at the furious pace Anakin was most comfortable with, pumping and making long strokes until he felt his Padawan sag with delirious relief against him. Anakin’s release dissipated into the water, and his chest heaved as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

Obi-Wan pulled out of him gently, and Anakin gingerly moved off of his Master’s lap. He felt suddenly shy, unsure what his next move should be in the aftermath of such intimacy. “I … I’m sorry your mission was so sordid, Master,” he finally offered, then grinned in what he hoped was a disarming manner. “Next time, you should take me with you. I’m sure it would be much more educational than sitting around bored by myself.”

Obi-Wan glanced sidelong at him, one eyebrow raised. “While I understand your intrinsic inability to ‘sit around bored’, as you say, I do wish to point out that according to your teachers, you had plenty to keep yourself occupied.” He reached down and tugged the stopper out of the drain, setting it on the tub’s edge. Would it be another several years before anyone used it again, Anakin wondered absently.

“Speaking of which,” Obi-Wan continued, snapping Anakin out of his reverie. “I do hope you at least cracked open a data-pad in the past five days, Padawan.” He rose, dripping from the tub and snatched up a towel, pulling one out of the cupboard beneath the sink and tossing it at Anakin. “It would pain me a great deal to know that you spent an entire week preoccupied with taking a bath.”

“Not to worry, Master,” Anakin replied, the same note of teasing in his own voice as in Obi-Wan’s. “I had to do something every once in a while. It was just too quiet here without you.” The older man smiled and rolled his eyes, padding out of the fresher to get dressed. Anakin gathered their discarded clothing – his own off the counter and the sufficiently dirtier bundle that Obi-Wan had left on the ground – and followed him.

It was nice not to be alone anymore.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Patient Padawan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/727280) by [citizenjess (givehimonemore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess)




End file.
